Doctor, My Eyes
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: "You've seen a lot, Leroy. After a while, seeing too much makes you numb. You need to be careful. You go too long, you won't be able to feel anything anymore."


**Doctor, My Eyes**

 **Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **Summary: "You've seen a lot, Leroy. After a while, seeing too much makes you numb. You need to be careful. You go too long, you won't be able to feel anything anymore."**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2008. Found: 2017- Licia**

 _"Doctor, my eyes have seen the years_  
 _And the slow parade of fears without crying_  
 _Now I want to understand_

 _I have done all that I could_  
 _To see the evil and the good without hiding_  
 _You must help me if you can_

 _Doctor, my eyes_  
 _Tell me what is wrong_  
 _Was I unwise to leave them open for so long?"_

 _\- Doctor, My Eyes,_

 _Jackson Browne_

 _Jackson Browne album, 1972_

"You've seen a lot, Leroy. After a while, seeing too much makes you numb. You need to be careful. You go too long, you won't be able to feel anything anymore."

"Could say the same 'bout you, Dad."

Jackson chuckled. "The only difference is I dealt with what I saw. You never did. Not with the Gulf, not the terror attacks in New York, not the protests in high school... none of it. You didn't deal with your mom dyin' either."

"That's cause she ran off before she could die."

"What about the team bein' split? You dealin' with that?" He got only silence, and the older Gibbs shook his head sadly. "You gotta, otherwise you're never gonna recover."

"Probie ain't never gonna listen." He turned, as Franks wandered over to him, and after a moment, the team leader pulled down another mason jar and added two fingers to it before handing it to him. His mentor raised the jar in silent toast, before sipping it. "He's the most stubborn agent I ever worked with."

"That got me through the Gulft." Gibbs whispered, sipping his drink.

"You ain't in the Gulf anymore, Probie. Haven't been for years."

"Reminds me o' that song, what was it called? About the guy who can't see anymore due to all the stuff he's seen."

" _Doctor, My Eyes_ by Jackson Browne." Gibbs replied. "Jackson Browne was one of Shannon's favorite artists. Him and Cass Elliot."

"Ah, Cass Elliot. Wasn't much of a looker, but you could overlook that thanks to that voice of hers." Jackson sighed, his gaze seeing someone years past. "Her 'Dream a Little Dream' was your mom's and my wedding song. 'Course it was sung by Ella Fitzgerald back then, but still."

"I always thought that was an anti-war song." The younger man chuckled at his mentor's response. Jackson waved Franks' response away.

"You remember the 'Nam protests, Leroy. And the marches. When we went down to visit your grandparents in Montgomery-"

"I remember." He whispered; images of the beatings and protests, the lynchings and burning crosses he'd witnessed as a boy flashing through his head. Even today, the smell of smoke would occasionally bring back flashes of men in white robes and pointy hoods holding lit torches. He remembered the march on Selma and the clashes between African-Americans and Whites, the bombing of the church in Birmingham, and the three freedom riders murdered in Mississippi; he'd seen the photographs in the newspaper of the Kent State Massacre in 1970, and hadn't understood why people who were supposed to protect Americans were killing them.

He had grown up in the most turbulent period of American history.

Something his team would never understand.

Yes, the majority of them had grown up during the Gulf War; they'd witnessed the 9/11 attacks, and the second Afghan War, but they were all relatively innocent to the true horrors that an American could do to another American. They had never truly witnessed injustice just because of your skin, or who loved or where you lived. They had grown up in an America that was as it was because of the sacrifices _his_ generation had made.

They had no understanding that schools had once been segregated due to race, that certain places wouldn't accept African-Americans as job applicants, that to marry someone of a different skin color was forbidden and illegal in certain states at one point. _Because they're all just babies, compared to you._

"Tell me, Leroy, when the towers fell in New York, did you react?"

"I dug bodies and body parts out of the Pentagon, Dad. And before that, I was up in Manhattan, shifting rubble to find survivors in the wreckage of the towers."

"I don't mean what did you _do_ , Leroy, I mean how did you _react_?"

Gibbs swallowed; he remembered watching the destruction, bodies falling from the towers, the people running as the towers fell in on themselves and the clouds covered all of downtown Manhattan's business district. And reacted? Now that he thought about it, _seriously_ thought about it, he hadn't.

He hadn't reacted at all.

If he were honest, he'd reacted worse when it was discovered that Ted Bundy had been responsible for the Florida State University Chi Omega sorority murders and the murder of twelve-year-old Kimberly Leach back in '78. He knew that it was because all three were innocent and defenseless- one was a child, and the other two had been in their beds as they were bludgeoned to death while they slept.

Had he really seen so much in his life that he'd become numb to the true horrors of the world he lived in? That the murders of three innocent girls by a serial killer could affect him more than the massacre of thousands caused by a terrorist attack?

"You can only go so long without feelin' before that's all you are, Probie." Franks finished his drink and set the jar down. "No matter how long you been in this job, you can't let yourself not notice the sufferin' of others. If you feel nothing when America loses thousands of lives, then how are you gonna react when a single life is lost? You're not. Agents that don't see and try to ease others' sufferin' aren't worth having in our profession."

Gibbs turned to his father. Jackson smiled sadly at his son. He'd seen so much, tried so hard to help others, and now was paying emotionally for it. After setting his jar down, he reached up, gently taking his son's face in his hand. "It's not too late, Leroy. You're still young. You can still feel, you just need to let yourself."

"But is it worth it?"

Jackson chuckled. "I'd say so. Because then you get to see the good times, too."

Without a word, he finished his drink and set it on the counter; when he turned back, both his father and Franks were gone.

 _"' Cause I have wandered through this world_  
 _And as each moment has unfurled_  
 _I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams_  
 _People go just where they will_  
 _I never noticed them until I got this feeling_  
 _That it's later than it seems_

 _Doctor, my eyes_  
 _Tell me what you see_  
 _I hear their cries_  
 _Just say if it's too late for me_

 _Doctor, my eyes_  
 _Cannot see the sky_  
 _Is this the prize for having learned how not to cry?"_

- _Doctor, My Eyes,_

Jackson Browne,

 _Jackson Browne_ album, 1972


End file.
